


Nearing the Close of the First Era

by LadyZeppelin1111 (QueenBoudica1770)



Category: Led Zeppelin, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Boys Kissing, Canon Timeline, Complicated Relationships, Drama, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Fights, M/M, Making Out, Overdosing, Rock Stars, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Some Humor, Touring, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:20:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoudica1770/pseuds/LadyZeppelin1111
Summary: The ill-fated 1977 US Tour.When the monster you've created gets out of hand.Drug abuse, overdose, feelings ahead.Yesh I'm back at the Jimbert again lol.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Robert Plant, John Bonham/John Paul Jones
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	1. The Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of the end of the mighty Zeppelin. Not right away, as it survived another few years, but the seeds were planted here.
> 
> Also, Richard Cole in a thong. You're welcome.
> 
> This is part 1 of a possibly 2 or 3 chapter work.

1977 US Tour, Second Leg 

This tour was beginning to seem like it's cursed, like the rumors the tabloids and groupies told were real. Bonzo and Ricardo now with court dates from the assault of a promoter's employer, ex cons and the like now hired as goons, and most everyone in the enterprise loaded up with drugs and booze. The vibe was different, Robert decided; darker, more jaded, more dangerous. Even though he'd spent nearly two years recovering from the terrible car accident, this tour had worn him down like being on the road never had before.

Jimmy had morphed into a near-stranger, what's worse. He shouldered the majority of the burden getting the album Presence recorded, mixed, and released, and it had taken its toll on the guitarist. Never a big man, he'd dropped so much weight he appeared skeletal, which was exacerbated by the white poppy suit he wore onstage. It seemed to swallow him in its rich, decadent fabric and motifs, and he looked barely able to hold up the Gibson doubleneck guitar he used for 'Stairway' and other numbers. He often went days without eating or sleeping, pushing on until he collapsed, and would be inert for 24 hours at a time sometimes.

When Robert would express his concern, it was either ignored or Jimmy would explode, stating he was fine, that Robert was acting like an old woman and should shut up and enjoy himself like everyone else.

Were they, though? Were they enjoying themselves? Before, the singer would've agreed yes, there were good times being had all around. Now, though, there was only exhaustion, greedy excess, even the way the girls were treated had degraded somehow, with many left naked and crying in hallways, limos, the street. How did the party become so malicious? And yet, the caravan of sin lumbered on, unchecked, like a moving amalgam of Mardi Gras and Armageddon and the Blitzkrieg rolled into one.

So now it was June, the last show of the second leg of this strange, twisted tour, and there would be a few weeks until the Third Leg began. One more night, and then a needed rest, the breath before another plunge into the Abyss. 

Robert, tired as was now the new normal, did a line of cocaine and went out onstage cheery and bug-eyed. Bonzo was mostly sober and Jonesy glassy and spacey but as per usual with him, he quietly held it together. Jimmy, though, floated onstage like he was in some trance, smiled wanly, and hung like a scarecrow onstage when he wasn't playing. He'd likely shot up with heroin before the show while Robert was getting ready and snorting his own drug of choice, but the guitarist barely seemed human at all.

At one point Jimmy forgot what song they were doing and went into another song's solo, to have the drummer yell at him and bang exaggeratedly the drum pattern until he wheeled back into the correct song. Robert gazed nervously out at the crowd, blinking his dilated eyes and smiling, embarrassed on all their behalf. The audience for the most part didn't seem to notice, clapping and cheering and giving the band a much needed boost; that at least hadn't changed. They played around three and a half hours, and when they came offstage the band immediately went into come-down mode, swathed in thick robes and guzzling fluids and just chilling quietly for a while. 

Jimmy snuggled up on Robert who was grateful for Jimmy's frail body against his own. He missed Jimmy a lot now, even when he was around, due to the bloated creature Zeppelin had become and the drugs and the grind and Jimmy's constant irritation at most everything. On the other hand, Robert had gained weight from his broken leg and ankle having immobilized him for months and months. He wasn't obese by any stretch, but was a lot meatier than he'd ever been. Oddly, it was one of the few things anymore that Jimmy didn't complain or mock him about; the guitarist in his more domestic moments seemed to enjoy burrowing into Robert's warmth and more fleshy body. The blonde man draped a long arm around the other man's narrow shoulders, and the pair sat like that for a while, having made it clear that tonight, no offense, but they didn't want to entertain any journalists or groupies or well-wishers.

The guitarist barely noticed when they were whisked by the roadies into a limo and taken to their hotel room. He walked on legs that felt like unbending sticks to the room he shared with Robert. Silently they removed their sweat soaked stage gear and got in the shower together. Still silent, but amiable, they washed each other's hair and Jimmy found he felt more like a human being. He even grinned a little when Robert, standing behind him, nibbled the side of his slim, white neck. They wrapped themselves in the luxurious robes provided, then Jimmy flopped onto the bed while the younger man rang room service. "You're eating all that this time of night?" inquired the black-haired man incredulously.

"You're eating, too."

"I'm not hungry."

"When was the last time you ate, Jimmurs?"

Jimmy furrowed his brow thinking but came up with nothing. "Doesn't matter," he continued stubbornly. "I'm not hungry."

When the food arrived Robert uncovered the platters and set one right on Jimmy's outstretched legs and threatened to also sit on the guitarist before he finally ate half of what was on his plate and drank more water and juice. Satisfied, Robert ate til he was full, then turned to find Jimmy asleep in a food coma. He was pleased to get some nutrition into his love, and soon he was fast asleep as well.

A few hours later, Robert awoke, and he couldn't figure why. It was still dark, and the bed was empty. The singer couldn't hear anything from the bathroom or see a light, and wondered where Jimmy was. The lamp on Jimmy's nightstand was on, casting a soft glow toward Jimmy's head, Robert saw, it seems Jimmy was sitting in the floor with his back to the side of the bed. "Jimjam, come back to bed. Way more comfortable than the floor, love," Robert mumbled to his husband. Silence. "Jimmeh," the singer whined, knowing the older man hated it when he did the singsong voice. That should get him riled. 

No movement or sound at all.

Robert scooted to that side of the bed and placed his hand on Jimmy's head, which caused Jimmy to slide over to the side and hit the floor with a thunk. "Shit, nuh, noo Jimmy!" slurred Robert, still bogged down with food and fatigue. He scrambled out of bed and to the place where the other man was now laying, flipped him over to find the needle still hanging out of his arm. "Oh, oh goddamn you," he spat, then the fear set in. He wasn't responding, oh god oh god oh god kept going through Robert's fuzzy mind. He put his ear against the sunken chest and found a heartbeat, though a sluggish one.

Robert ran out of the room, banged on the door of Jonesy's room while babbling and crying. The door opened to reveal a berobed Bonzo still wearing his bowler hat from earlier. It would've been comical if the situation weren't so dire. After getting the gist of the problem, Bonham and Jonesy dashed back to Robert and Jimmy's room.

"He needs CPR," declared the drummer.

"I don't know CPR!" Robert cried.

"I think I do," announced John Paul, and set to work on the guitarist.

"I'm ringing the ambulance," Robert said, and headed for the phone.

"No, and get the cops involved?" snapped a voice. They all turned to find Richard Cole clad only in what appeared to be a rhinestone encrusted thong. "Here, lemme see," he said, and took over from Jonesy. 

After a minute, Jimmy coughed weakly, his breathing still heavy and labored. 

Then he began to sieze.

"What's he doing?" Demanded a bewildered Bonzo. "He's having a stroke or something!"

"Gimme the fucking phone!" Robert roared. 

"Get the boys," Richard instructed the rhythm section. "Get them to pull up one of the rental cars, so nobody will know who it is. We'll take him to the emergency room, it'll give me time to call G and keep this shit on the down low. Well, go on!"

The drummer and bassist scurried off, leaving the tour manager and singer. "Is he," Robert swallowed. "Is he going to die?"

"He may be dying right now. Here, we gotta get rid of this stuff while they're bringing the car round. Robert! Listen to me. He's breathing now, so that's good, and he's not having a seizure now, so we'll get him to a hospital."

The singer nodded and helped Richard to dispose of the drug paraphernalia. Robert looked down at Jimmy before they hefted him up to take him to the vehicle. He was ashen, grey almost, his rosy lips had no color. He looked like a skeleton, a corpse already, layed out, track marks on the skinny, porcelain arms, his eyes sunken in a round face now hardened and sharpened.

Oh, Jimmy, Robert said to himself. Look at us. Look at this. What have we become?


	2. The Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy has to face the seriousness of his problems.
> 
> Drug addiction, getting clean, dudes making out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert is loyal, I'll give him that.
> 
> Arguments, drama, feels.
> 
> Rock stars still in love. Some sex may happen soon lol.

Floating.

Floating in nothingness, hanging in peaceful darkness, feeling only tranquility.

How long, he didn't know. Suspended.

Then the Nothing changed, shifted. Something tugged at him, he began to wonder where he was, the passage of time, and he began to be pushed, it seemed, toward light and sound, the sound of machines beeping and worried voices. He began to fear going back there to the pain and doubt and strife and whaaaaaat--

Jimmy's eyes fluttered open, then he squeezed them shut against the fluorescent lights. Finally opened, squinted, and found a hospital room that resolved itself in his vision. His body seemed like it was made of lead (ha) and he could barely wiggle his fingers. He felt thirsty and hungry and tired and why did his body hurt all over? He looked around, then saw a familiar blond figure sleeping in the chair/bed contraption for guests, apparently having not bothered with letting it down into a bed. In his lap with her arms around him was the equally blonde but short and chunky Lisa, bless her. Jimmy wasn't even angry to see them snuggled up together, he was just glad somebody cared enough to stay here with him.

He opened his mouth but a dry croak came out. Lisa stirred, sighed contentedly, then glanced around to find the guitarist watching her. "Jimmy!" She exclaimed, which made Robert nearly jump out of his skin out of a dead sleep. Both were instantly on their feet and at his bedside.

"What happened?" he managed to get out. 

"Overdose," Robert answered solemnly.

"Ah. I think...I was half asleep when I measured," the guitarist spoke, almost to himself. "I'm sorry to put you through that."

"Christ, Jimmurs," Robert squeezed the older man's hand. "I thought you were fucking dead."

"You missed the best part, though," Lisa piped up in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Ricardo in a jewelled thong."

"Oh, God, I didn't need that visual in my head," Jimmy screwed up his face.

Lisa giggled, then after patting Robert's arm, left the couple to themselves.

"This has to stop," Robert said quietly, but his voice was firm.

"Rob--"

"I mean it, Jim. You have to get clean. I'll help you any way I can."

"It's not that easy, Percy. We got another tour starting up in a few weeks!"

"Then we can be working on it," countered Robert, his face earnest yet stern.

"Why should you even bother with me? You're too busy still pretending you're the original hippie. I don't fit into all that bullshit, I never did."

"It's not bullshit, and you're just giving excuses and being an asshole."

"So? That's nothing new for me."

"Damn you, Jimmy. Just. Damn you," Robert spat with surprising vehemence. "You're getting off the smack, or I'm out."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Jimmy sighed, giving the singer a twinge of regret for doing this now while the guitarist was still weak. Robert had to do it now, though, while his resolve still held. "I want to stop, Rob," he said, barely audible. "I just don't know how."

"Then I'll be there with you, love. We'll get whatever doctor or therapist or what have you to help," Robert encouraged.

"I love you, Rob," Jimmy whispered, exhausted now. His eyes soon closed and he was asleep, this time a natural sleep.

Robert released his hand gently. 

After a day or so Jimmy was released to Robert and Lisa, who whisked him to a townhouse they rented to stay and nurse him in. Turns out Jimmy was anemic and malnourished in addition to his addiction, so the assistant tour manager and singer stuffed food and vitamins in him, along with the medicine that had been prescribed to him to step him down from heroin use.

A few days in and Jimmy already looked a little better; color had come back to his cheeks, he smiled more, he didn't shake every few hours. Without the junk, though, he wasn't getting the satisfaction from a good dose, the numbness, the euphoria. He smiled and laughed more freely, but his nerves were even more frayed. Many things got broken in the rental house as Jimmy lost his temper and sometimes his whole mind. Robert cried several times, but he refused to leave or give up. G called constantly, having not been able to leave England due to Swan Song label business, and Lisa and Richard kept him appraised.

One day Lisa went to run some errands and get groceries, and Jimmy went into a tirade about something inconsequential and threw a porcelain figurine decoration from the coffee table and threw it at Robert. It bounced off his head, with such force his legs buckled and he slumped to the floor.

Jimmy's puffy green eyes widened. He killed him! He thought frantically, and rushed over. Pieces of the figurine lay all around, stained red. "Oh, fuck, no," cried the guitarist, and pushed the heavy body over. "Robert! ROBERT!" He shook the singer, terrified, desperate. Blood stained the golden curls and trickled down the side of his slack face.

Robert moaned, eyelids finally opened. "Owww," he groaned, his eyes finally focusing on Jimmy's frightened face.

"Robert, ah, thank God," breathed Jimmy, then kissed him.

When they parted, Robert frowned up at him. "You fucking hit me in the head, Jimmy. The fuck, mate?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he apologized. "Let's have a look at your head."

"I need my head examined for putting up with this," Robert muttered as Jimmy helped him up.

Jimmy doctored Robert's head in the bathroom, gave him some aspirin, cooed and fussed. He hadn't even doted on Robert this much after the car accident. Then again, Jimmy hadn't been responsible for the crash. Robert shrugged and took what he could get from the guitarist. 

Robert went to the living room to see the broken porcelain in the floor, and some of his blood. Jimmy's face turned white(r) when confronted with the sight. "Robert."

"I'm still not going anywhere," the singer declared. "But if you do something like that again I will beat the shit outta you."

Jimmy sobbed, held onto one of the living room chairs. He looked like he would faint. Robert went to him, and they helped each other to the sofa. "What a pair," Jimmy laughed unexpectedly. Robert still woozy from his head injury, Jimmy a recovering addict, hanging onto one another for dear life, it was rather comical. 

"I didn't know you had such a good arm," Robert remarked. Jimmy snuggled against Robert, as old habits die hard, it seems.

"I didn't either," Jimmy snorted. He gazed at Robert, the first time he'd just looked at his husband in a long time. His face was softer from him being heavier, his blue eyes still bright and clear, but with the trauma he'd been through these past few years hidden there. He nuzzled the singer's throat, began kissing it softly.

"Mmm," was Robert's response. He slid an arm around the skinny guitarist and pulled him closer.

Despite not wanting to hurt or distress the ailing Jimmy, Robert found desire stir in him, especially when Jimmy kissed his jaw and Robert finally turned his face to him to kiss him. 

It was like the first time they kissed, the spark at least, as soon they were devouring each other's lips, tongues entwined, moans being swallowed down. "Jimmurs, uhhhn, I don't know if you're up for, ahhh, this," murmured Robert in between increasingly filthy kisses.

"Yes, I am," he breathed against Robert's cheek, then slid his delicate hand down the singer's abdomen to the growing bulge in the blond man's trousers. "Need you, Planty. Need you so badly."

Robert growled and pushed his lover down on the couch, pulled his button up shirt open to reveal Jimmy's chest, kissed him there, he was still so beautiful to him in spite of being emaciated, his Jimmy, his Jimmy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, hugs, comments welcome! I thrive on attention! Probably one more chapter coming.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having super angsty frustrated time so uh, my muse is feeling dark lol. Hope you enjoyed. Kudos, thoughts, hugs always welcome.


End file.
